


Pass the Time

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2019 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Whumptober Day 7: Isolation, immortal!Noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 14:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20950064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Noctis locks himself away. The Gods can't save him, now.





	Pass the Time

The problem with immortality besides the obvious is the psychological effects. Ardyn Lucis Caelum, first and last of his name, was not the first or last immortal to come walking through the ages. Of them all, he was merely the most well-known. 

But the Gods do not see things in a linear setting. They are not omniscient, but they do not see the timeline as humanity does. They see points, pinpricks in the dark, and tracing back from there, the paths that will lead up to that eventuality. From there, they choose what is best for humanity, and from  _ there  _ comes the path of the Accursed.

A denizen of the realm, hand-picked from among billions, chosen to be the Great Darkness, to gather whatever threat it is the world possess and hoard it among themselves. For Ardyn, it was the Starscourge.

For Noctis, it is magic.

It’s strange, and tragic, the way the world outgrew elemancy at such a rapid clip with Ardyn gone. The dawn Noctis ushered in should have been a bright one, and in a way it was. He didn’t get married, but he knows he had friends at some point, and he loved them deeply. He knows that before he became what he was, he lived a very good life. And he knows that before he retired as King, he was beloved by his populace. 

For all that his title is that of the Accursed, Noctis Lucis Caelum has yet to play by the rules of engagement. Typically, there are Words, handed down by the Gods, concerning the matter of his Rise and Fall and Eventual Demise. There would need to be a Chosen One born, meant to embody everything he is not, and perhaps some of what he is as well. They would need to go on a journey of some kind, eventually falling into his hands, and from there the Great Darkness and the Chosen Light would do battle, with the Darkness falling away to be reborn for another cycle, and the Light going on to thrive until their eventual transition.

Except Noctis Lucis Caelum has never wanted to be  _ known.  _ His greatest desire is secrecy. Quiet. And so when he makes his transition, the first trick he learns is how to vanish his presence in a room. The second is shadow magic that lets him go anywhere a shadow lingers. His third is to fake his death, and retire from the public as King. 

Perhaps it’s a shitty move, given all his friends endured. But they are dead now, gone like so many, and the world is a different place. A place void of magic, where such a practice is viewed as little more than a fairytale. Creatures like Noctis little more than boogeyman made to delight and terrify children. 

And that’s the way Noctis prefers it. He has no need for food, or water, or sleep, and his dreams are just as good as reality. So instead of some Great Battle with the Chosen Light, Noctis Lucis Caelum, four hundred and twenty-second Accursed in name though not deed, tucks himself away into the remains of Angelgard, puts up a magical barrier designed to hide him from the world, and goes to sleep.

And there he remains. The Gods cannot pass the Words of him down now, not to a world that does not believe in them. There will be no Chosen Hero, no pitched battle, no reprieve from his immortality. Noctis Lucis Caelum has done the impossible, and saved himself by virtue of refusing to interact with the world outside. Of doing what Ignis begged him not to do as a young man, and isolating himself to such a degree that he no longer cares about anything.

In his dreams, he lives a different life. A fuller life. One back in the streets of his city, with Gladio and Ignis and Prompto and his dad, all laughing and smiling and enjoying a world without Niflheim’s threat. A world he will never reach, and when he inevitably wakes, he is left feeling as if a great hole is in his chest. A world that will never be, not in a realm that has forgotten magic. 

Forgotten the King of Light. 

But then, Noctis thinks as he tucks himself back to bed, desperate to get back to his friends. Isn’t that the point of isolationism?


End file.
